


I Kneel Before Thee, Raven Beauty

by distelhawk



Series: Too Much For A Lifetime [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Natasha is older than Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distelhawk/pseuds/distelhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met in a hallway first, the most unassuming of meetings. The cold sun of the late winter shone through the high arches and some of her hair had spilled from under the shawl wrapped around her head. That was what he noticed. The way the deep brown glinted in the sun, warm and full and so unlike the ice and wind that seeped into everyone’s bones.</p><p>They rushed past each other and that should have been that. Maybe not before; maybe before it could have been something else. But he was no longer who he used to be and so that should have been that.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Medieval!Avengers AU</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Obsidian Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, look at this - medieval Avengers AU! I blame this entirely on Tumblr and a great number of people there, mainly the Clint/Darcy enablers circling like hungry hawks around puffabilly who also was kind enough to act as my beta for this one. Yes, I am one of those circling around her because, damn, it's fun being an enabler!
> 
> In case you are wondering - Connection Day is NOT abandoned. It is, in fact, written. I just have some major re-editing to do with the last parts and have not been able to get to it next to work and other RL shenanigans. This need to write this story hit me smack-bang over the head yesterday and I needed to get it out.

  
 

 

**The Obsidian Tree**

In burning hearts there lives  
bravery and strength  
captured from  
the enchanted Obsidian Tree

***

 

They met in a hallway first, the most unassuming of meetings. The cold sun of the late winter shone through the high arches and some of her hair had spilled from under the shawl wrapped around her head. That was what he noticed. The way the deep brown glinted in the sun, warm and full and so unlike the ice and wind that seeped into everyone’s bones.

They’d only rushed past each other, her carrying a large basket and him on the way to the weapons chamber. But his eyes lingered and hers, head bowed deep and fixed to the floor as befitting someone of her station, were alive and warm and just little mischievous.

They rushed past each other and that should have been that. Maybe not before; maybe before it could have been something else. But he was no longer who he used to be and so that should have been that.

\--------

Whore’s Son. Sir Clinton of Iowa. Little Hawk. Devil’s Dumb Advocate. Clint had had many names in his time, though the most recent ones were a good deal more flattering than before. He was a sir now, knighted by King Nicholas after a bloody battle. And a gorging battle it had been, a frightening sight for most people with the King standing on top of a small hill, the enemy’s army in bloody heaps all around them. King Nicholas had raised his sword high, blood still gushing from where his left eye used to be, his deep voice unwavering when he had made Clint kneel. The cold metal had touched his bruised shoulder but he hadn’t flinched.

He had stood that day Sir Clinton of Iowa. No longer the wilful boy of a kitchen whore but suddenly a ruler, a leader of people, no more in the shadows that were his friends. He tried to carry the title with honour, no matter how much it itched him. He was proud of what he had accomplished, knew exactly what great an honour had been bestowed upon him. His land and the small manor were nothing much, the smallest of all of King Nicholas’ Lordships, but for him, they were more than enough. Though he was no ruler, he understood the need for one to be in place and he had lived through enough hardship in his day to hope and try to make it a good life for his people. His people … he had people. People that looked to him for guidance, people that trusted him and his judgment to lead them through another harsh winter. Sometimes, the thought made him sick.

He didn’t have to do it alone. The old parson of Iowa had taken to supporting Clint with his new role, making it yet another thing Clint would never be able to repay him. After his mother “got lost” for lack of a better term, the young and underfed Clint had been taken in by Parson Marcus and spent most of his childhood with the parson’s family before saying his goodbyes at fourteen, stubborn and headstrong and convinced he would do great things out in the world. Not that he had been wrong, but it had taken a lot longer than Clint had meant it to.

Old Marcus, often times called “Bishop” by the people of Iowa, as they were as headstrong and sinfully independent as Clint was himself. They knew they were part of a larger picture, far from being independent. But they still liked to try. And so Old Parson Marcus became the Bishop and his daughter Katherine would laugh loud and hard about it. She was a strong child, one whose growth and strength warmed Clint’s heart. In recent years, he had begun to suspect that Katherine was the one doing most of the work in his absence but he let it be. She was smart and capable and her father was old and his bones were brittle. It did them both well. Also, it gave the Lordship of Iowa another thing to claim independence and difference over, though no one would say it out loud. They were proud of Katherine, most of them affectionately calling her Kate still, but no one wished her harm. And so the people of Iowa would smile in their own secret way when Kate guided her father’s words and choices and they would rejoice when Clint came back, new scars and fantastic stories to tell.

Clint never spent much time in Iowa though. He knew it wasn’t fair and one day in the future, he would be expected to be with his people more. To take a wife, have her bear his heir and be a ruler. But now was not that time. Many assumed he would wed Kate and he understood how and why they came to think like that. It seemed logical enough and would make for an easier transition. During his more brooding moods he admitted that he probably would marry Kate one day. No longer was he free to just choose for himself, there were other people with their eyes fixed on his every move now, expectations to be fulfilled. He would probably marry Kate and it would be a good life. But while he sometimes accepted that, he was no idiot either and he knew full well that while they would both fulfil their duties, there would not be any passion in their marriage bed. Clint had had passion in his life, had mistaken it for love one too many times even, and knew that he felt nothing akin to that for Kate.

And so, for now, he spent his days travelling the kingdom. And he never travelled alone. How he had made it into the close knit group of the King, he still didn’t quite understand. He had still been a stable boy when he’d first heard of the great stories of Lord Anthony Stark, The Iron Fist. Soon those stories were mixed with gushes of equal measure about Sir Steven, The Shield or Prince Thor, the Hammer-clad warrior-prince from the neighbouring country and someone else, someone never named but always described. The Black Shade he was called, no one knew who he was, covered as he was during battle. But he was the fiercest of them all, striking without hesitation, never flinching in fear. They were great stories and when it came to pass that they travelled through the castle on their way to the King’s war council, Clint’s life had changed.

It had changed, like many things in his life, because of his strong head and passionate heart.

The big three had travelled with quite an entourage, most of it part of Sir Anthony’s household. There had been surprisingly many women amongst them, considering they were headed to council and would probably fight for the King in the looming war. The women were beautiful, all of them, with their flowing hair and bright eyes and every other man working stopped to turn their heads. There was greedy whistling and leerful staring, many a clap on the back when one of the girls had lifted their eyes to theirs and Clint himself had to admit, he’d not particularly held his tongue himself.

But that mouthy tongue of his had suddenly felt like lead in his mouth when a piercing green gaze found his eyes. She had been sitting high atop a horse, riding like a man but still clad in delicate fabrics.

It had been the other boys’ laughter that had brought him back to himself. Fingers pointing at him, laughing at his wide eyes and open mouth. Many accusations were made that day; the most sordid one was a comparison of the red-haired beauty riding behind Lord Anthony to his mother, that his taste was into whores that likened themselves above their station. The speaker had lost most of his teeth for his troubles and Clint spent the night outside, cooling his temper and swollen knuckles with the horses. He had no idea who she was but she was beautiful. More though, her eyes. When she had looked at him, right at him, it had seemed like someone had toppled him over on the hard cobbles.

As always, that should have been that. He was a stable boy, she travelled with the fiercest worriers of the country.

Clint, being the slightly odd one amongst the workers as it were, had woken up the next morning to no friends. Whatever slight connections he had made so far had been blown to pieces during his fight the night before. He acted like it didn’t faze him, but it did.

Three days later he had packed what little he possessed and was on his merry way, back to the forests to seek his luck elsewhere.

It was that night that something happened. He’d been deep in the woods, bow at the ready, rabbit in sight, when suddenly a knife flew past him just when he’d let his arrow fly. Both weapons sank into the animal with a wet thunk.

It had been her knife, expertly thrown. Her name was Natasha and she made him show her his prowess with the bow. She’d chuckled deeply and he’d hung to her every word while she led him out of the thick of the woods, to her camp.

From that day on, Clint had been part of their entourage. He’d travelled with them, part of the other workers, paying his due through labour and marvelling at the turn his life had taken. He was not like other workers though, as time and again Natasha would come to him, make him come and practice with her. He knew it should feel wrong, sparring with a woman, but with Natasha, there had been nothing else he could imagine her doing. With time, more and more people came to see them, amongst them Lord Anthony, Lord Steve and even Prince Thor. It didn’t take long for Clint to realise that it was Natasha, the one in black with no name and he grinned proudly because he now knew. He was a religious man, he believed in God and was scared of the Devil, but he had experienced too many things in his years already to refuse to see what was right in front of his eyes. Natasha was born to fight, to kill with grace and ice cold precision. He figured that, if God had made her that way, he’d want her to live that way, too.

It probably would not have happened – the lordship and all of it, had war not been upon them quicker than anyone had imagined. They hadn’t even made it to the King’s war council when the wild hordes had broken in and during the heat of battle, it didn’t matter that he was just a stable boy with a whore for a mother and a peculiar skill with bow and arrow. He fought, they fought and suddenly, they were fighting together and at night, they would drink together and even later at night, he would be with Natasha. Maybe it was the smell of battle or the cold of the nights or the possibility that none of them might make it through the next day, but she had taken him into her tent every night and he had loved her … or likened himself to being in love with her. These days, he didn’t really know anymore.

It had been a long war and a bloody one and by the end of it, many people should have been knighted but too few of them were still alive. He had become Lord Clinton of Iowa and him and his had been celebrated like heroes, people starting to chant for the “Avengers” every time they rode past.

It was a life filled with madness, but it was his and he marvelled at every second of it.

\---------------

“No, my Lady Jane, you need to relax your arm or only pain will come of this and I promise it will not be the good kind.”

“Since when is any kind of pain good pain?”

“Ah, well, I was in the tavern the other day and heard…”

“Darcy!”

Darcy rolled her eyes good-naturedly before bending back down to try and pry the Lady Jane’s fingers loose from the small dagger she had been waving around in a death grip.

It was dark and she could hardly see, but she already knew Jane’s arms would be hurting tomorrow. Her Lady had a strong spirit and a brave heart, but a fighter she was not. Still, though, ever since she had found Darcy secretly sparring at night, she had made Darcy show her, too. Together they tried to remember the steps and grips and faints they saw the knights do during practice in the day. Darcy, who had started with her secret workouts years ago, tried her best to show Jane the proper way to hold the weapons but they just never really seemed to work with Jane the way they did with Darcy.

“All right, my lady, on your toes and we go again.” Darcy grinned at Jane through the semi-darkness, her own dagger raised high. She missed practicing with a sword but Jane could hardly lift it, let alone swing it around with any sort or precision, so for now daggers would have to do.

Darcy was just about to swing around, trying to attack Jane from above, when there was movement in the shadow behind the big tree and she stopped, dagger still in the air and Jane, moving upward to block the attack like Darcy had shown her, ended up slicing through Darcy’s blouse and into her arm.

“Ohmylord!” Jane gasped, dagger clattering to the ground. “Oh Darcy, does it hurt badly, oh how clumsy I am, I will send for the …”

“Shh!” Normally, around other people, Darcy would probably end up in the stocks for addressing her Lady Jane in such a manner, but the two women knew each other long enough and right this moment, Darcy couldn’t care less about decorum. Cradling her bleeding arm to her chest, she pushed Jane behind her and raised her dagger again.

“Who’s out there?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“You should get that looked at.”

Darcy pointed her dagger in the direction of the voice, trying to keep Jane from coming forward. It was one thing bringing her Lady outside in the middle of the night and teaching her to fight like a man; it was an entirely different thing not defending her when a stranger was lurking around in the darkness.

“I probably would be already, if you weren’t there creeping around in the shadows like you’re up to no good. I am warning you, I am armed and I know how to use my weapon.”

A slight chuckle followed her proclamation.

“Darcy!” Jane nearly wheezed, her small hands digging painfully in Darcy’s shoulder.

“Lower your dagger, woman, before your lady faints and then what will we do?”

Finally, he stepped out of the deep shadows into the semi-light of the torch fire. He was shorter than she had expected, all the knights and guards usually striking an imposing figure. He was dressed more for convenience and stealth than to impress and in his hands was a bow, quiver on his back.

“Lord Clinton!” Jane’s voice was equal parts relieved and still scared.

Right, Lord Clinton. She should know that. Then again, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been dressed for the opulent dinner Lord Erik had put on for him and not like a poor ranger looking for scraps.

“Please, my Lady, Clint will do.” He bowed slightly. “And now please let me take a look at your handmaiden’s arm, you were wielding that dagger like you were swatting at flies, if you pardon the expression my Lady.”

Darcy wondered if she should step in. Was he insulting Jane? It didn’t sound like an insult. Jane seemed unsure herself, mouth opening and closing.

“I did not mean offence, merely stating the truth. We all looked like that at some point, right Darcy?”

So he knew her name, huh? That was new. Instead of answering though, she asked the obvious question. “What qualifies you to tend to my wound?”

“Yes, that.” Jane added helpfully, now standing next to Darcy, back straight – all the regal daughter of a high lord.

Lord Clinton walked up to them and, without saying a word, held out his hands. His bow was slung over his shoulder now and Darcy finally realised she was still pointing the dagger at him.

For all the loving horse dung under the sun, that was a stupid move. Quickly, she shoved the dagger into its sheath before bowing into a curtsey. “So very sorry my Lord Clinton, I had not realised I was still …”

“I know that, it’s all right. Now please show me your arm?”

“Really, Lord Clint, no need to trouble yourself. I will just call for the healer and …”

“And then all the castle will ask what you two were doing outside in the middle of the night and how your handmaiden ended up stabbed.” Lord Clinton ended the sentence for Jane, a lot smoother and more calm than Darcy felt.

Mouth set into a straight line, she shoved her arm into his hands, deftly rolling up the bloody remains of her blouse with her other hand.

“And to answer your earlier question,” Lord Clinton continued, bent low over her arm to make out the depth of the cut in the light. “On the battlefield, you learn to take care of cuts and little stabs like this. No need to worry a healer over something that only needs washing and a bandage when there is good folk with their guts hanging out and bleeding like pigs.”

Jane gasped at the language, hand covering her mouth. Lord Clinton raised his head, not looking at Jane though, but at Darcy. His mouth twitched up slightly, caught between a smirk and a grin.

“I don’t scare easy,” Darcy answered his unasked question. It was late and the way she saw it, he could have already had her thrown in the barracks for any number of things that night. There really wasn’t any use to keep up most of the pretences anymore.

“I noticed.” He flashed her a grin before looking down again, letting go of her arm and opening his tunic.

“My lord …?” Jane’s alarm seemed to know no end and if her arm wasn’t throbbing in actual pain now, Darcy might have found it amusing.

Lord Clinton though just calmly kept on, tearing off a piece of his own chemise and wrapping it tightly around Darcy’s arm, making her wince.

“Take your lady back inside, Darcy. Then wash that wound with warm water and wrap it in clean cloth. If it’s not started healing after two days, go see a healer.” He fiddled with the cloth for a moment before gripping her arm.

“You might want to rethink your training in the middle of the night so close to the castle,” he looked at her earnestly now. “Not everyone will look without alarm at a woman wielding a blade outside the kitchen.”

Their eyes met and Darcy felt her mouth go dry for just a second before she nodded. He let go of her arm and took a step back.

“Good night my Lady,” He bowed to Jane. “Darcy.” And then to Darcy, too, before slipping back into the shadows.

For once, it was Jane tugging on Darcy’s arm to get her moving.

“Come on, Darcy. We need to get that cut of yours seen to properly.”


	2. Thy tranquil dreams, etched upon me

**Thy tranquil dreams, etched upon me**

Clint knew why he was here, at High Lord Erik’s table. The King had sent him here for two reasons – one, to smooth things over with the lord himself before requesting additional troops. Hardly anyone in the country knew, but trouble was brewing up north and the King wanted to see his kingdom prepared.

The other reason was that he was supposed to court the Lady Jane. As much as most people in Iowa seemed to believe he was betrothed to Katherine, that wasn’t actually the case and the King took full advantage of the fact. Clint had tried to argue, but there was only so much arguing you could do with a king, especially one that had been nicknamed “The Fury” in the aftermath of the last war.

It wasn’t about the Lady Natasha (for she was a lady, even if not by birth). Whatever they had been was long over and while he sometimes missed spending his nights with her (he was but a man after all), after the initial pain of rejection, he agreed that they were better off that way. He had learned a lot from her, on the battlefield and in the ways of pleasing a woman, but there wouldn’t be more between them.

No, it wasn’t about another woman. It was the fact that he simply had no interest in most of the ladies of court he had met. Most of them he found boring; interested in things he had no use for and while he understood that most had been raised to behave that way, it still did not mean he had to take a liking to it.

Jane had already surprised him that was for sure, with her eagerness for independence. And they got along just fine during their long walks through the castle gardens. But she was still a lady to boot. He could play-act the lord if he wanted to, for a time. But it was an ill-fitting suit and if he was to spend the rest of his life with a woman, it needed to be someone who didn’t mind his poor past.

Jane did not judge him for it, the little bits he eluded to during their talks. But she needed someone else. Someone with grandeur and high breeding, not someone that liked to sleep outside and more often than not fell back to talking in the unbecoming way of the lower class.

And, if he was being fully honest with himself, the biggest problem of them all was none of what he would tell anyone that asked him. Because Jane was lovely inside and out and her father was a kind and smart man.

No, far more problematic was the Lady’s handmaiden.

Darcy accompanied them on most of their walks – as was expected. But unlike most maidens she wasn’t shy and quiet in the background. She walked along right next to them, offering her own opinions and most often, making them all laugh.

Clint could tell there was a lot of closeness between the Lady and her maiden; that they had found a way to bridge the cap usually left by decorum and expectations.

And when he smiled a bit wider whenever she directed a nearly-snarky remark his way or was a little saddened when she was unable to make it to one of their walks, than that was his secret alone.

He could take her if he wanted to – of course he could. He had no illusions about the power his title gave him. He had lived on the road with Lord Anthony for several years, he knew very well what type of behaviour was open to him now and even without Tony as an example … they didn’t use to call him Whore’s Son for nothing.

And that was precisely why he wouldn’t go there. He did not know if his mother went willingly to whoever was his father, but regardless – it had only brought pain and suffering on her. He did not wish that for Darcy … far from it actually. And if he were still just Clint, he might have courted her instead of the Lady Jane.

He’d bring her a little flower he would pick from the meadow and he would find a way to spar with her away from scandalised eyes.

As it were, though, that possibility was not for him anymore.

“Lord Clinton!” The voice coming up behind them was short of breath, waving what looked like a sealed envelope in his hands.

“My honour, Matthew, you don’t run like a headless chicken when approaching a Lord.” Darcy stopped the young boy from nearly toppling into Clint in his eagerness.

“I could have thought him a puppy. Look at the eyes, Darcy.” Clint replied with a slight smirk and he saw Darcy stifling a laugh.

“What is it then, young Matthew, that you have for Lord Clinton?” Jane stepped forward and took the letter from the young boy that seemed to have his spirits stunted by their remarks.

“It’s an urgent letter for the Lord”, he said, voice now less exuberant. “A courier just came for him and I, knowing you are prone to taking a walk at this time of day, ran right away to deliver it.”

Clint couldn’t help but smile. To eagerness of the young, many times he wished he was still allowed the same courtesy. Ruffling the boy’s hair, he took the letter from Jane.

“Thank you, Matthew, for your service.”

The boy beamed before performing a clumsy bow and running back the way he had come.

“Secret letters, my lord?” Darcy’s tone was more mockery than anything, but he could see she was curious. Jane was, too, though she had enough restraint to not ask him about his personal correspondence.

Instead of answering her, he threw her a challenging look before turning to Jane. “If you would excuse me a moment.”

The letter was what he had hoped for. Sealed with the sign of a Spider, it was in Natasha’s neat writing. It still took him longer than it should to read the few words, having learned it not too long ago. But still, it was good tidings.

Natasha, together with Steve and Prince Thor, was on her way to the castle. Their mandate was to visit with a supposedly brilliant healer or scholar of some sort. The man had become of interest to the King when he had doubled his own strength through the use of some sort of concoction. Or those were the stories anyway.

They would pass Lord Erik’s estate on the way and, after receiving word from Clint, decided to spend a few days with the High Lord and their comrade.

Clint’s real reason for having them visit, though, was that he wanted Natasha to take Darcy and the Lady Jane under her wing. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to fight in a men’s world and without anyone noticing. Once or twice Clint had managed to have short lessons with Jane and Darcy, using sticks for swords and using the cover of a secluded clearing in the forest. But he was sure Natasha would know more about what was important for them both, not to mention he wasn’t his strongest with a sword. He could use it to defend himself, surely. But his real expertise lay with the bow and arrow, or any type of projectile.

“Good tidings,” he beamed, turning back to the two women. “The Lady Natasha has sent word that she is travelling with Prince Thor and Lord Steven in these parts and they are going to stay here for a while.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Jane nearly clapped her hands in excitement. “I have wanted to make acquaintances with these friends of yours. We must tell father immediately! When will they get here?”

Clint was honestly happy that Jane was excited. He could only imagine how bored of his company she was at this point, especially with both of them still pretending that the courting was for real.

“They should make it here just before nightfall.”

Jane chatted animatedly now, right in her element when she and Clint turned back to inform Lord Erik of their impending guests.

Darcy, for once, was trailing behind, eyes kind but a little sad. Clint turned back and caught her gaze, trying to ask what was wrong without saying a word but she just shook her head and gave him her brilliant smile.

Ignoring the slight sadness in her eyes was just as much her secret as the quick thumping of his heart at her smile was his.

\----------------------------

“I am sorry, Darcy.”

Darcy turned around from where she was gathering a more fitting dress for the occasion. They were in Jane’s quarters, Jane brushing out her hair while Darcy laid out the dress.

“Sorry, my lady?”

Jane had put down the brush and was instead looking at Darcy a little forlornly through her polished metal.

“Sorry that I am a lady and you are not.”

For once, Darcy was happy to have her arms full of fabric, thus being excused from looking at Jane. It wasn’t the first time the topic had come up, but never in such a way and never for such a reason. Darcy cursed herself. If Jane was able to tell, who else would be? She would be the laughing stock of the castle, even more so because many envied her closeness with the young lady.

“It’s quite alright”, she replied, her back to Jane while she untangled the threads of the bodice. “Besides, people already envy me for working with you. I would not like to give them more reasons to dislike their own lot.”

Jane was quiet for a moment, but continued to brush out her hair.

“You do know he used to be a stable boy, right?”

Darcy’s hands shook a little, so she balled them into fists for a moment.

“Who do you mean, my lady?”

“Darcy …” Jane’s voice really made it clear that there was no fooling her. Darcy had freed the threads and motioned for Jane to stand on the short stool so she could help her into the dress.

“Even so. He is a lord now.” Darcy said, tugging on the bodice with a little more force than necessary.

“I just mean,” Jane sputtered, still caught between the fabrics. “He probably wouldn’t mind … I certainly wouldn’t … not yet anyway.”

With a last push, the bodice was where it should be and Darcy stepped back from Jane, forehead in crinkles.

“Wouldn’t mind … what?”

“Oh Darcy, don’t make me say it …”

Darcy swallowed, her throat thick. She ran her tongue around inside her mouth a moment, using the time to swallow the accusing sentences threatening to spill. She could cuss like a sailor and if she got going, there was no stopping her. But that was her on every given day. This, though, looked very much like a line Jane and she came across rather seldom. The line where she needed to remember, unequivocally, that she was the handmaiden of the High Lord’s daughter. Because, in the end, that was who she was.

“Is this bodice too tight?” she asked, voice tight. Maybe, if she ignored it, then Jane would drop it.

“It is fine. And Darcy I didn’t mean … what I meant to say is …”

Behind Jane’s back, Darcy closed her eyes, yanking the threads and tying the knots.

“If you want to lie with him, you know you could.”

Darcy stepped back, the bodice only half-done. Slowly, she stepped around Jane.

“Thank you for that … the … for the offer, my Lady.” She blinked rapidly, turning her face away. “If you could just … excuse me for a moment.”

She just walked out.

She would be reprimanded for it later, she knew, because once she was in the outer chambers, she bit down on her own fist once, hard, before seeking out Lydia. “I am needed elsewhere; please help the Lady with her hair and dress.”

Lydia, eager to please, didn’t even question it. She just jumped at the chance. But the questions would come later and Darcy would have no answers for them.

She made it down two hallways and into an alcove before the first tear spilled, she gave herself half a minute, counting the seconds with her fingers like the Lady Jane showed her all those years ago. She let her tears spill as silently as possible and then, she bunched her fingers into a fist and punched the hard stone, hissing at the pain.

She knew Jane didn’t mean it. She had tried to be kind and then got caught in the conventions of their situation. Darcy knew Jane long enough to know that. It still didn’t mean it hurt less to hear her say it. To offer Darcy something both women knew would only make it worse.

This was her burden and she had been fine carrying it. Maybe it was even her own fault just a little. It had seemed harmless as first, carrying on with the lightness of a casual conversation here and a lingering glance there. It had felt so nice and Lord Clinton, Clint, he had been open to it. Not in the dirty way some of the other Lords and knights were. He had been kind and smart and just a little bit snarky, responding to each and every one of her remarks.

And she had gotten lost in it, the flirtation of it, the brightness of his smile and the kindness in his eyes. Once or twice, she had fallen asleep letting herself think of his colourful eyes.

“Oh Darcy, you silly, silly girl …”

“Don’t tell me you did that on purpose.”

Darcy flinched, his voice burning through her immediately. Of course it had to be him.

“Maybe I like the pain.” It spilled over her lips before she could stop herself and there he was, having stepped into the alcove with her, easy smile on his lips. Until he saw her face.

Before he could talk though, she held up her hand, seeing her scraped knuckles and the newly dried blood on them for the first time.

“Excuse me my Lord Clinton. That was not appropriate. I should go.” But she made another mistake. She raised her head and caught his gaze and though she had had every intention of turning around and leaving, now she found she couldn’t.

“What happened”, he asked, reaching for her hand as if to inspect it though his eyes never left hers.

She tried her best to smile but knew the moment her mouth moved that it was more grimace than anything else. Still, she pushed on.

“Nothing I cannot deal with myself.” His fingers were rough on her skin, hands of someone used to working and she wanted nothing more than to let him continue to hold her hands. But she knew she couldn’t, so she took them back.

“The Lady Jane will be ready shortly. Good day, my lord.”

Again, she tried to turn around but this time, it was his hand on her shoulder stopping her.

“Don’t “my lord” me, Darcy.”

He was closer now, trying to catch her eyes again and she did all she could to evade him. Her heart was hammering away in her chest and she felt shaky, too much happening at once. She suddenly felt weak, like the situation was slipping from her fingers and she had never liked weakness. She might be a woman but she had never, not once in her life, accepted that being of the female gender went along with being weak. So she raised her head, looking at a point over his shoulder and her chin harsh.

This needed to end, somehow. And now was as best a time as any. His comrades were nearly here, people of his station and the life full of wonderment that she knew he led. He might have taken a liking to her here, inside the castle walls, maybe seeing a kindred spirit in her in a way. But soon she would be but a forgotten memory.

And even if not. Even if he would end up marrying the Lady Jane, there was no use in playing a game that would end in nothing but horror.

“But it is what you are. I am Darcy and you are Lord Clinton of Iowa.” She still wasn’t looking at him, hoping her voice sounded as strong and final as she intended it to.

She could feel him swallowing, fingers on her shoulder gripping her more tightly and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him closing his eyes. And then he let her go. He stepped back, an unreadable expression on his face.

“My lord.” Her words were hollow, her curtsy sloppy and the nod he gave in return seemed like it pained him.

When she turned away and slipped out the alcove, she wanted it should feel like a victory. He had understood and she could move on, they all could.

Instead she found herself fighting wetness in her eyes again and it wasn’t from her swollen knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you puffabilly for your beta skills and the cheerleading!


	3. Through me the way is to the City of Woe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to keep you hanging, so here is the next one already. Puffabilly is a goddess, just so ya'll know it.

**Through me the way is to the City of Woe**

 

He was standing next to Jane when the gates opened wide and four horses came galloping into the courtyard.

Jane looked beautiful in her dress, though her spirits weren’t as high as they had been when they parted ways in the early noon. Just standing next to her made him wish he could turn his head, lean wide and catch Darcy’s eyes. He didn’t, though.

Because she was right when she told him no.

Though it pained him to admit it, looking back he could see how wrongly he had treated her. Nothing intentional and nothing anyone would frown upon. But he had let them grow close, had been too caught up in good company and wide smiles and a longing for the simplicity of his past to see that it had been as little of a game for her as it had been for him.

It would be best if he left with Natasha, Thor and Steve.

Together, they surely would be able to convince the high lord that his support was needed and then he would try and find a gentle way to let Lord Erik know that, while his daughter was a lovely young woman and someone he would heartily like to count as a friend, there would be no union in their future.

Yes, it would be for the best.

Clint’s smile, though, was an honest one when he stepped forward to clasp hands with Prince Thor who was the first off his steed.

“Brother Clinton,” the large man spoke with much affection. “It is good to see you again, we have missed you greatly.”

Clint smiled in return.

“As have I you, Thor, my comrade. Thank you for responding to my request and welcome.”

Thor clasped his shoulder, as always just shy of hurting Clint before turning to Lord Erik.

“Thank you High Lord, for opening your gates to us travelling folk. King Nicholas sends his regards as does my father, King Odin of Asgard.”

Clint hid a laugh when he saw Lord Erik’s composed face slip for just a moment. Thor was an imposing man, large and striking and with a spirit that could fill a room twice over. Those who knew him though, and were lucky to call him their friend, knew him also as one of the friendliest and most encouraging amongst them.

“I thank you and I welcome you, Prince Thor. It is an honour to host you and your comrades. May I present my daughter, the Lady Jane.”

Clint, who had been about to step forward to greet Steve while the others continued to exchange pleasantries, was hindered from doing so by Lady Jane’s small hand suddenly biting into his forearm with a fierceness he had not thought her to possess. Looking over, he saw her in a deep curtsey before the prince but her fingers were shaking and she didn’t even seem aware that she had dug her nails into his flesh, simply grabbing for the first thing available to hold on to. He opened his mouth to ask if she was alright, but she was already lifting her head again and the moment he saw the redness on her cheeks, Clint believed he understood.

“Welcome, Prince Thor.” She sounded a little raspy, as if her throat was thick and before he could help himself, Clint searched for Darcy’s eyes amongst the servants. He was grinning at her and raising a suggestive eyebrow that had her stifle a laugh in return, before he remembered their place and his earlier promise to himself and he abruptly turned away.

“My lady” Thor said it … quietly. Which was probably the reason Clint found himself staring at Thor just a little. Thor, for all his heart and kindness, rarely did things in a quiet fashion. But here he was, taking Lady Jane’s hand in his as she had finally let go of Clint’s arm, and lifting it to his forehead in greeting, as was a custom amongst his people.

Clint looked over at Steve and then at Natasha, before he had to turn away for he honestly felt like laughing now. No, this, he had not considered.

The remaining greetings were exchanged quickly and without further incidents. Thor, Steve and Natasha were shown to their quarters by a handful of bright eyed servants and Clint found himself trailing behind them, not quite sure what to do with himself.

“Stop with the fidgeting and come show me to my room, little Hawk.”

Clint smirked before turning in the direction Natasha and her servant girl were taking.

“Will you ever stop calling me that?”

Natasha shrugged her shoulders before ruffling his hair just a little. “Maybe?”

Clint chuckled before offering her his arm, both of them falling in step fluently.

“It looks like we might end up staying a while longer than expected,” Natasha remarked once they had rounded a corner. Clint hummed in agreement. Something, though, must have given away his displeasure at the notion because Natasha pinched the back of his hand sharply, a tiny purple bruise already forming.

“What have you done now.”

“I feel like I should feel affronted by your remark, my lady,” he remarked with a slight shake of his head. “I must be but a foolish child in your eyes as you keep on spotting my faults from nothing but a hum or a headshake.”

Natasha rolled her eyes just as they stepped through the door to her room while the servant bowed herself out and closed the door behind them. “Oh Clinton, little Hawk of my heart.” She touched his cheek gently. “You know I don’t think that. And if this were a different place and a different time, we might be different. I found you in the woods and I made you mine and you made me yours. We grew and learned and shaped each other like the ocean shapes the sand it rolls over.” Quickly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It was quick, chaste, like the echo of a fond memory. “And then we had to let each other go, retreat back into ourselves like the ocean does when the moon calls to him.”

She wiped her thumb over his lip and he smiled. She was right, as always.

“Now stop stalling and tell me what you have done to make your heart sad once more.”

With a groan, he let himself fall into one of the chairs around the small table in her room.

“Lady Jane’s handmaiden…” he gestured vaguely with his hands.

“Continue.” Her voice had a stern edge when she sat in the chair opposite him.

“I caught her at night, sparring with her Lady Jane and she was good. Quick on her feet and a strong grip on her sword. She has a quick mouth and a smart mind and…” he rubbed his hands over his face.

“And you have fallen for her charms.”

Clint chuckled drily. “Like a stone thrown off a cliff.”

Natasha didn’t say anything else for a while, teasing him with her silence for she knew he would break.

“I had decided to take my leave with you as quickly as possible. There is no place for me here or anywhere really; even before Thor swept the Lady Jane off her feet with his dazzling smile and golden locks.” He laughed a little, even if it sounded hollow to his own ears.

“I don’t belong in this world, Natasha. I can offer you my arm and I can bow and I can sit at the high tables while servants tend to my every wish. But if I am truly honest, it gets harder every day. I was never one to cloud myself in lies and these days, it feels like it is all I do.” He wrung his hands together, laying them on the table top and staring at the ring he had received upon accepting his Lordship of Iowa.

“And Darcy, she is like I used to be … though with more grace and sense than I ever possessed.” He lifted his head now, looking at Natasha. “I cannot start questioning my life, Natasha. Not for a girl. No matter how bright her smile. I made my decision when I followed King Nicholas into battle, when I accepted the title of a lord.”

Natasha reached over, covering his hand with hers.

“Yes, you did. You worked hard to get where you are now. But let me share a little secret with you – no one feels they belong in this world. It is but a game of hide and seek and either you play it, or you don’t. And it might not feel that way to you, but you play the game well.”

She gave his hand a hard squeeze.

“But remember – you have as much the right as any of us to change the rules of the game. Look at me, have I not defied the rules put on me from my first day? There is always a way, Clint, as long as you are smart about walking along it.”

Clint looked at Natasha for a long time, trying to imagine what a life like hers must have been like before she was accepted into the circle that would later become the Avengers. What a lonely and cold life it must have been.

Turning his hand over, he squeezed hers back.

“I thank you, my lady, for your council. You have given me much to think on.”

He stood, bowed and gave her hand a small kiss. “Thank you for your friendship.”

Her quiet smile escorted him until he closed her chambers door behind him and made his way to the watch tower, the thought of clear skies and fresh wind a welcome balm to help relieve the tremors in his heart.

\--------------------

Darcy was in the kitchen, fingers deep in a bowl of dirty water trying to scrub the plates clean. Thankfully, the feast had been a small one and no one in attendance behaved like a pig. Soon enough, they would be done and she would accompany Jane to her room. Though she was sure no sleep would be coming for a while at least.

There had not been any time for her and Jane to talk since their guests’ arrival, but it had taken Darcy a lot less time than it had Lord Clinton to realise what the bright blush on her lady’s cheeks meant.

Still, it had pained and excited her poor heart when he had grinned at her, making a face and sharing a moment that was just for the two of them and no one else.

For the life of her Darcy could not understand how she even got to be in the position she was in. Yes, she had taken the odd fancy to a boy, of course she had. But nothing had ever come of it as she seemed to scare most men away with her sometimes curt tone and unwillingness to keep her thoughts to herself. It was just how she was and though she had tried to fight it when she was younger, always sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other children, she had come to accept that she liked a little bit of freedom more than being accepted by everyone she met.

She had found great employment, would be able to make her way through the world and maybe, if she was lucky, would one day find a man who would be excited rather than scared of her.

That it had to be a lord was just her luck.

“Young Darcy, I presume?”

This time, Darcy did jump. No, she did not scare easy but she also usually heard the tell-tale signs of someone approaching her. Not though now, and she had managed to slosh water all over her tunic when she turned around to see the woman whom she presumed to be the Lady Natasha.

“Yes.” She stood for a moment before dropping into a short curtsey. This was not … the lords and ladies did not come into the kitchen, or any of the servants quarters really. They might send the steward but they _never_ , under any circumstances, would come down here.

“Good, follow me.” And the woman turned on the heel of her delicate shoe and walked straight through the kitchen and out the servants’ entrance.

Twice, Darcy swallowed, trying to get her mouth to not taste like ash, before a sharp look from the cook had her scrambling after the lady.

\--------

“Stand straight, just so yes. Please stretch out your arms.”

Darcy had been trembling from the effort not to speak for the last few minutes. Instead, she found herself being poked and prodded by this stranger. She knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

“Pardon me my lady,” She made her voice sound sweet as best as possible. “What do you want with me?”

Natasha, who appeared to have been deep in thought, actually looked her in the face for the first time.

“To see how well your body has shaped itself around your training.”

Darcy let her arms fall, an unbefitting feeling of anger coiling in her stomach. Lord Clinton had spoken of her secret. Had he not promised to keep it? It seemed he thought of it as less important than she did … and why would he not? Though Darcy did not agree, she knew it was well within his right to use his knowledge like he saw fit. It had been a kindness of him to carry her secret as closely as she had all these years.

“My lady?” Again, Darcy found herself swallowing the dryness in her mouth away.

Natasha, who was several steps away from her, did not answer. Instead, she reached inside the cloak she wore over her evening dress and with the smallest flick of her wrist Darcy saw a dagger being thrown her way, handle-first

There was no time to be surprised, Darcy only reacted. Stepping to the side, she caught the masterfully crafted blade out of the air before crouching low just in case.

“What in the name of the Lord was that?” she gasped from her position on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the older woman.

The Lady Natasha only smiled wickedly. Then she stepped forward and held out her hand for the dagger.

“If you are serious about the craft of fighting, meet me outside the castle walls before dawn.”

Frowning, Darcy rose from the ground and slowly handed the weapon back to her.

“Why?”

“Because I am not in the business of letting people waste their life.”

She let Darcy stand in the dark, having vanished back inside the kitchen with a flourish.

Only when the last bit of her cloak was gone from her view did Darcy breathe properly again. For a few moments, she simply stared, her heart thundering away inside her. Then, she stepped back inside with a small smile on her lips.

\------------

She had not meant to talk to him about it, but on her way back to her ladies chambers she came across him in the dark. Her head was still full of the meeting she had been made to have earlier and she found herself slowing her steps before she could think better of it.

“You told the Lady Natasha my secret.”

It did not sound as much like the accusation she had meant it to be.

If he was surprised that she talked to him at all, he hid it well.

“Yes, I did.” He sounded a little hesitant. As if he suddenly did not know how to handle her anymore. It stung a little; it had always been easy between them.

“It was not your secret to tell.” She lowered her head, meaning to just walk on. Because what else was there so say. It was already daring of her to speak to him in this manner as it were, more was only asking for trouble.

Before she had passed him though, he reached for her arm and halted her movements.

“Darcy, wait.” She halted, but did not turn to look at him.

“Look at me, please.” Now she did turn around. She had meant it when she reminded him of their different stations. He was the lord, she was the servant. Already, she had crossed the line again so now, she forced herself to be obedient.

“I did not mean to betray your trust. I know the importance of it and that it is hard earned and easily destroyed through foolishness. I trust the Lady Natasha with my life and asked her here to help you, if you wished it.”

He was still holding her arm in his hand, the slow movement of his thumb over her skin distracted her.

“Help me?”

“I have seen her fight, have fought alongside her many years and she is the best fighter in the country. Hardly anyone knows it, but I do. And when I saw you fight, I could see the same greatness, the same ease and sharpness. The Lady Natasha has made it her life’s mission to be able to lead her life any way she sees fit, even if it sometimes means she needs to hide who she really is. I just wanted to … you deserve to be able to make that same choice.”

He let go of her arm suddenly, but only to rest his hand on her face. He smiled and the smile was filled with so much regret and longing, it took Darcy’s breath away.

“There are already enough choices taken from you.”

Darcy felt herself tremble and when he moved to take his hand away, she covered it with her own, keeping it there against her cheek.

“Lord …”

His thumb slipped over her lips, stilling her movement.

“Please don’t call me Lord Clinton, at least not …” he swallowed. “Not when it’s just us.”

Darcy could not help herself, had never been all that good at controlling an impulse when it struck. She kissed his thumb, softly, where it still rested on her lips. She heard him take a sharp breath, eyes closing and her heart was in her throat again, fluttering in movements it wasn’t allowed to take.

“Darcy …”

It was a whisper, a little like a prayer and then she felt his lips on hers, replacing his rough finger with softness.

It was a short kiss, just a shy brushing of lips on lips, but to Darcy it felt like seasons passed them by. When he leaned back, she found her eyes had closed and a tear had trickled from them. He brushed it away slowly before gently taking his hand from her face, his own a wild mix of emotions.

“You…” His lips fluttered up as if to smile but he did not quite manage it. He shook his head instead. “I am sorry. Sorry that I must be a lord when you do not carry the title you deserve.”

He stepped away from her.

“Please know that I wished it to be different.”

Her whispered “I do” only crossed her lips when he was nearly gone, swallowed by the darkness.


	4. We've far to go to see our lands once more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are then, closing the book on the first chapter of something ... oh I should just not. Am really not in a "let's hold a grand-ass speech" mood *laughs*
> 
> I am quite overwhelmed by the responses I've gotten so far. Really - you keep telling me that the writing is amazing and it transports you right into that world and all I can do is sit here, shake my head and think "But I'm just a little German girl with a slight Arthurian Legend fetish ..." and it HAS been YEARS since I last even played around in any type of medieval setting so ... wow, thank you all for your kind words! 
> 
> Now, off we go then ...

**We've far to go to see our lands once more**

  
_Written above the lintel of a door._   
_Whereat: "Master, the sense is hard," I cried._   
_And he, as one experienced in that lore:_   
_"Here all misgiving must thy mind reject._   
_Here cowardice must die and be no more...."_   


 

Clint was not surprised when he heard footsteps on the stairwell leading up to the tower. What he did not anticipate though, was to see not only Natasha’s face, but also Thor and Steve behind her.

“I see you brought reinforcements,” he chuckled slightly when Natasha stepped up, leaning against the wall next to him.

“The Lady Natasha has implied that you find yourself in a predicament in matters of the heart.” Steve’s voice, as was his nature, sounded strong and reassuring. “Is it true that you have grown fond of the Lady Jane’s handmaiden, friend?”

Clint found himself once more shaking his head. Stepping from the wall he had been leaning against, he gripped Thor’s shoulder for a moment before he nodded. There was no use denying it, not anymore and not amongst his friends.

“I see you have decided to share my confidence,” he remarked in the direction of Natasha but Steve stepped in.

“Do not ail Natasha her decision, Clint. She only told us because we ourselves were worried. Thor and myself felt you did not act yourself during the feast and were worried it stemmed from a conflict about the easy friendship between Thor and the Lady Jane.”

“I apologise for my forward manner with the Lady Jane. I know you have been courting her these past few weeks.” Thor’s words were spoken with earnestness and true concern. “But Natasha tells me that you have no further intentions toward Lord Erik’s daughter.”

Clint sighed deeply, in wonder about the concern his friends showed him. Not that he did not know them to be good and honest folk, but when it came to matters of the heart he had learned that the rules of friendship could mean very little.

“She speaks the truth. The Lady Jane is a remarkable woman, poised and graceful and smart but, I fear, not for me. You, Thor, seem to think differently though.” He permitted a small smile for his friend. “I wish you the best of luck.”

“I thank you, Clint.” It was Thor’s turn to grip Clint’s shoulder. “But now tell us, what is the trouble with the handmaiden? Has she spurned your advances?”

Natasha snorted behind him. “Oh Prince Thor, if only it were as easy as a disagreement about a good tumble.”

Clint found himself biting his lip to keep in a sniping remark. He was amongst friends here, they meant no harm with their words.

Natasha's voice was nearly sweet when she continues “Our little hawk has found himself in love with the girl.”

Clint felt everyone’s eyes on him now and forewent an answer by simply shrugging his shoulders. It was the truth and nothing he could say would change it.

It was Steve who spoke next.

“And she is not of high breeding, I gather, which makes an honest union difficult.”

“It makes it impossible.” Clint growled out. “My position is already frowned upon by most other nobles in the country; the only thing keeping them from speaking out is my affiliation with each of you and the fact that the King values my council. If I were to take a … a peasant …”

“You wish to marry her, truly?” Thor sounded pleased.

“It is of no matter what I wish, because it cannot happen.” Clint snipped Thor's way only to regret it at once. 

“For someone who has travels the lands with the likes of us, people that you know to look beyond breeding and who have taken you in and accepted you with or without a title, you seem oddly set in the ways of the nobles of old,” Steve sounded a little saddened and Clint balled his hands into fist.

Did they not want to understand? Not only would losing it all again mean he had failed, had forsaken something he had worked his life to achieving. More so, it would make Darcy the laughing stock of every story to be told for years to come.

The serving girl that charmed her way between the sheets of a noble, fancying herself higher than she was allowed only to wake one morning to find it all gone.

“I would lose everything.” Clint’s voice was bitter.

“Do you really believe that? Do you believe you would lose us? You said it yourself – most of the nobles already believe you a fraud. What does it matter to you if they disapprove of your choice in marriage?”

“But the King…”

“The King has a harsh voice but a soft heart, and you know that more so than any of us.”

Clint groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Think on it, Clint.” Steve clapped him on the back. “If you truly love her and believe she would make you happy, there will be a way. It might not be easy, but where would be the jest in life without a little trouble.”

Thor nodded his agreement “Aye!” and followed Steve down the stairs and from view.

“You cannot let me stew in my pain in peace, woman, and I curse you for it,” he grumbled toward Natasha who was still standing at the wall, arms crossed. And he meant it – for the most part. Because now, there was hope cursing through his veins and he knew the sting of hopes that ended in fruitlessness.

“You are very unattractive when stewing; I prefer things pleasing to the eye”, she replied with a smirk.

Clint let the remark pass, turning his eyes to the dark horizon instead.

“So everyone else just thinks me greedy for my fears.”

“You are too much a beau of self-pity, Clint, and it does not suit you.”

Now, Clint did round on Natasha, annoyed with her continuing curtness. “You do not know …”

“Do not know what it is like to go against convention? To lead a daring life and make my way in a world ruled by men? Do I not know what it is like to be scared, day in day out, of losing all that I hold dear?” Now, her voice held true ice and Clint snapped his mouth shut.

“Do not wallow in self-pity, for you know nothing, Lord Clinton. You are still a man and men will always be chosen to experience greatness over women.”

He did not try to stop her when she left, knew he was the one at fault. He had acted without thought and once again, she had sat him straight. What had seemed impossible only moments ago now appeared like a childish tantrum.

He felt like a young boy again, uncertain of his way in the world. He always wanted to pride himself on his ability to see beyond what was right in front of him, yet in this case, his vision had failed him.

\---------

The morning was already painting the skies grey when he left the tower, frozen to the bone but clear-headed.

He caught Natasha, who he knew to rise early, just as she was leaving her chambers, the castle slowly waking for another day of work.

“I am sorry, I should not have spoken without thought.” He gripped her arm tightly. “I acted foolishly and was in the wrong. Forgive me again?”

He knew she would, but was still glad to see the set line of her mouth less stern when she looked at him.

“I am meeting with Darcy, we are going for a little … walk. If you have come to a decision, feel free to find us.”

\---------

Her eyes were still heavy when she found the Lady Natasha outside the castle gates. She had not slept that night, tossing and turning on her cot with what ifs and regrets for company.

Jane had been in a state of disarray when Darcy had found her way back to her chambers, eyes shining with excitement and happiness. For many hours there had only been talk of Prince Thor, his striking physique and gentle eyes. Their long conversation at the feast was recounted for Darcy in striking detail and then Jane and Darcy had pulled out nearly all of Lady Jane’s dresses for the Prince had asked Jane to accompany him on a walk through the gardens the next day. Darcy had thrown herself into her work with abundance. It was easier this way, being happy for Jane and preparing for a future that very well might come to pass instead of agonizing over the impossible.

When Jane had finally fallen into a deep sleep, Darcy had found herself awake, huddled next to Gwen on their small cot. She had tried to keep Lord Clinton from her thoughts, focused her wandering mind instead on what he had said about the Lady Natasha and her offer – or demand. It felt like her life was coming to a crossroads, a decision waiting to be made between her past and her future. It excited her and it scared her and the more she pondered it, it also made her angry.

Lord Clinton – Clint – had said he wanted her to be able to live the life she wanted, make the decisions she wanted. It seemed petty and a little unfair, but her mind kept asking itself why he wouldn’t do the same. She did not question that his feelings toward her were untrue and maybe it was her youth and wilful spirit, but a part of her wished that it be enough. So that they would just be together come hell or high weather.

She knew it wasn’t how the world worked, had understood not to pour herself into such ways of thinking when she was a little girl, sent to live in the castle by a father unsure how to raise a child without its mother.

But now, standing in the cold morning air, it seemed like there might be a possibility of a new world opening its doors to her and here she was, still unhappy because of a man. It was rather quaint, the way her heart worked.

Motioning for her to follow, Darcy and the Lady Natasha walked a fair while through the morning mist in silence. Maybe there were questions to be asked, but Darcy was cold and tired and also felt a little irked by the way Lady Natasha treated her. As if some sort of decision about anything had already been made on her behalf and someone had forgotten to inform her.

When they made it to a small clearing, Darcy was not surprised to have a slim sword thrown her way.

“I want to see what you can do,” Natasha said, a sword of her own in battle position and taking stance a short way from Darcy. Suddenly, Darcy felt trepidation rise. She had never fought an actual opponent, least of all one who knew their craft. All this seemed to her like a test she needed to pass and no matter how tired she was, suddenly she was wide awake.

Should she question it? The trouble she could get in if someone knew. Knew she was about to attack a lady of the King’s court with a sword. But Clint had said he trusted her with his life and there was clearly more to her than being a simple lady of the court.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy lifted her sword and attacked. She had no real idea if this was how one usually attacked an opponent during a jesting fight, but it was what she knew. The loud clang of metal on metal rang in her ears and she felt the shudders vibrate all the way up her arm. She very nearly lost her hold on the weapon, but managed to hold on and turned away, crouching down again like she had the night before and raising her sword in a defensive manner while Natasha’s sword swung down toward her.

And so they went at it, pushing and shoving each other with their swords and soon, Darcy got lost in the feeling. Oh how she had missed this. Not having to pause every few beats to adjust her lady’s grip or repeat the same movements again and again. Now, she could just try it all, make one movement into many and stretch her body until it, too, felt like a weapon.

Before too long, the Lady Natasha stepped back and from behind her Darcy heard a few short claps.

Still reeling from fighting, Darcy turned around with a wide smile, knowing without any shadow of doubt that it would be Clint.

“You did not lie Clint,” Natasha said, sheathing her sword. “She has remarkable talent for someone with no training.” She stepped to Darcy with an approving smile and Darcy beamed when she handed back the sword.

Clint himself carried an honest smile, nodding his agreement. “She is remarkable.”

Darcy felt her wide smile turn to stone. Though a slight redness coloured her cheeks at the compliment and open smile he had for her, her stomach felt heavy. Too much happiness and hope could be gained from the way he acted and Darcy did not fancy another sleepless night and being haunted by his grey-blue eyes.

“Thank you, my lady, for the compliment”, she said after a moment of silence, choosing to ignore Clint in favour of the honest happiness she could garner from her relations with Lady Natasha.

“I know your life is here, Darcy, with your Lady Jane. But know that I would very much wish for you to accompany me, as my apprentice.” Hope laced Natasha’s words.

“For a long time I have been searching for someone worthy to teach. I am not as young as I used to be and it would bring be great joy to know my craft passed on not just to anyone, but a strong woman to carry on my legacy.” She clasped Darcy’s arm.

“Think on it and let your heart guide you, I will not fault you should your decision not be in my favour.”

With a nod to Clint, she stepped away and left them in the small clearing.

Darcy made to follow her, trepidation in her at the thought of being left alone with Clint once more, but he raised his hand.

“Darcy, if you will, I would like a word.”

Her shoulders seemed to bow under the pressure she felt at his simple request. “What more is there to say, Clint.”

Saying his name out loud felt weird on her tongue, but she felt he had earned it. She could not say where they stood, but he had been honest with her the night before, so who was she to deny him his request?

He was quiet for so long, she nearly thought he had changed his mind. Searching his eyes though, she could see that he was just searching for the words. They did not stand close, but it still felt like an intimate moment and Darcy felt the same flutter from the night before spring alive in her chest. How could he affect her so with so little a gesture? Did he feel the same? Was that why he seemed unable to leave her be?

“I am in love with you.”

All the air seemed to squeeze out of her lungs but she struggled to find new air to replace it with. Had he really just said what she imagined he had?

“You can’t.”

Again, words flew from her lips without her agreeing to voice them. But it was true. Because if she was not allowed to feel this way, he wasn’t either. When he took a step toward her, she took a step back, sucking in a great breath of air – finally – and shaking her head.

“You cannot … you cannot say these things to me. Because when I am close to you alone, my heart beats in an unknown rhythm and hearing you talk about … about love. It seems a fantastic notion the likes of me are not allowed to entertain unless …” Here she swallowed, gulping in more air for it seemed to be in short supply this morning. “Unless I were to be your whore, to be with you in body but not before God and …”

Suddenly, he closed the gap between them in one big step and while he did not touch her, his closeness alone bound her.

“I can say these things, Darcy, for they are true. And I would never … never ask you to be my … be less than my everything.” He raised his hand as if to cup her face again, but refrained.

“I know the rules, how a lord should behave and the kind of company I am expected to keep. And for a long enough time I believed that keeping to the code was more important. But I do not believe so anymore.”

He smiled, a desperate kind of smile and finally touched his hand to her face. Darcy closed her eyes, tried to keep breathing in and out.

“Clint what … what you are saying is madness.”

“Then mad I will be.”

Laughter bubbled out of her before she could keep it in.

“Be mad with me, Darcy.”

There was so much excitement in his voice, he sounded more like a boy than a man hardened by time and when she opened her eyes again, his seemed to laugh and shine with hope. And she wanted to, for all that was holy, she wanted to. To just say yes and to hell with it. A grin was gracing her lips, mischievous and bright, before she could help herself. She was laughing, still and he laughed with her. Her hand came to rest on the stubbled skin of his face and she could feel him leaning into the touch.

For a moment, just a moment, she let herself feel it. The hope and love inside her, let herself imagine what it could be like. A life away from the castle, fighting alongside the Avengers, marrying a lord and…

But it was too much. The laughter died in her throat and a bittersweet calm came over her.

“I can’t.”

Mirroring his movement from the night before, she rested a finger on his lips, keeping him from talking.

“I can’t … now. And I don’t know if I ever …” She shook her head.

“I am in love with you, too, Lord Clinton.” She smiled for she knew he disliked it when she used his full title. “And I wish nothing more to just …” And she felt herself wavering again, his eyes confused and pleading and so very much filled with love.

“But right now, it is too much. Mere moments ago the Lady Natasha offered me a new life of wonder and adventure, yes. But also one filled with secrets and fear, filled with fighting every day for something hardly anyone believes I have a right to.”

He had closed his eyes now, trying to accept though she could still see the sadness in him. His forehead came to rest upon hers, their fingers both drawing lines of a future unlived onto their skins.

“And there is Jane. If I leave her, I have to be sure … sure she will be all right. She is so much more than just my lady.” Her hands wove their way into his hair, holding him closer, breathing him in.

“I need … I need time. This is too much. Too much for one day. Too much for a lifetime perhaps.”

She kissed his lips softly; just as chaste as their kiss had been the night before. Then she let go, give him a last smile, one that spoke of maybes and what ifs, before turning and walking back to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me?
> 
> I've already started writing the next part *scared toothy grin*
> 
> Also - snog Puffabilly, she's a peach!


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